Dreamland
by BloodMoonNights
Summary: There are no princes; there are no fairy godmothers with glass slippers. No one is coming to save you. When harsh realities slip away into dreams and fantasies, can there really be such a thing as a 'happy ending' for someone so damaged? Do raven haired princes really ride white horses? I guess we'll find out. Creek. See warnings inside.
1. Chapter 1

**Dreamland**

A Creek Fanfiction

Chapter 1

_Trigger Warnings: Rape. Abuse. Proceed with caution. _

X

I gave up waiting on a hero years ago. In fairytales, there is always a prince who rides in on a white horse, sword drawn and ready to defend the damsel in distress. He slays the evil stepmother, the monster, the dragon guarding the tower, the gorgon. Whatever. It's just like _wham_! All suddenly becomes glorious, and golden, and brand new and shiny! Then, the raven haired prince scoops up the blonde damsel, making promises of safety and love and a happily ever after.

Bullshit.

There are no princes; there are no fairy godmothers with glass slippers. No one is coming to save you. But, there are such things as monsters, evil stepparents, and damsels in need of some someone, _anyone_! Evil isn't black and white, however. It comes adorned in all shapes and sizes, in any and all colors with silky voices and the appearance of wanting to help.

A hero never came for me, so I became my own hero.

But, I guess I should start from the beginning and explain what got me here today. Every story needs a prologue, an introduction if you will. It goes back to fifth grade when my parents decided that their marriage was inexplicably broken, and that it was falling apart too fast to save.

They couldn't stand each other enough to stay together for me. I became another object they fought over, like the coffee maker or the loveseat in the living room. Who gets custody? How much should child support be monthly? What about visits? What would happen at school? No one cared what I had to say.

My father was a weak man, too partial to his job and the use of ridiculous metaphors to care when mom won custody of me. He got to keep the business, so in the end I guess he got to keep ahold of the child he cared most about. He would visit me on holidays and special occasions, he promised; nothing would change he said. "It isn't your fault you mom and I are not together anymore. Don't think like that." But, of course, this only caused me to think about it all the time.

Mother decided that to truly be free we had to move as far away as we could from South Park, from my dad, from the gossipy bitches who would whisper behind her back. I sobbed into my pillow at nights, scared of what tomorrow was going to bring. What do you do when your whole world falls apart at the tender age of ten? Mother would come to me, and wrap me in her arms as if I were a toddler again. She would whisper words of comfort to me, stroking my hair and kissing my forehead. "It will be okay, my love. We are strong, we will rise like phoenixes. There is life to be found in the ashes of loss. Her glossy curtain of gold hair would wash over me, the smell of her coconut shampoo comforting. And she would sit with me until I fell asleep or stopped crying, whichever came first.

Where my father failed, my mother excelled. She was a strong woman, thick-headed, strong willed and tough. Her life had not been glamorous, and she worked hard for everything she had. She earned the life she deserved. My mother was tall, beautiful, pale and protective as a momma bear over the only thing in the world she ever truly loved: me.

It was a Friday when she told me we were moving to Texas. "That is where nana and papa live, and we are going to stay with them for a while. Won't that be fun?" she tried to reassure me, stroking my hair and smiling her beautiful smile. I didn't understand; what was wrong with right here? Could my friends come with me? I couldn't do anything without my best friend, Craig Tucker. I demanded he be allowed to go or I would not move. And mother looked at me sadly, her blue eyes so devastating in their sorrow as she told me Craig could not go with us. He had to stay here.

"But why do I have t-t-to go?" I demanded, shaking angrily like a tree in a hurricane. And, indeed, I was about to become uprooted from all I had known and swept away to some foreign land.

"Because, sweetheart, we can't stay here anymore."

"Can't I s-stay with dad?" I begged, hands clasped in a hopeless prayer. She sighed and said there was nothing more to discuss. I ran to Craig's, sobbing into my best friend and scaring him into silence. He asked no questions, I told him nothing. We sat in silence, except for my sniffling and he hugged me and told me we would be friends forever.

"Something like being in another state won't hinder anything. We've been through so much. We will get through this," he said, squeezing my hand which he had taken in his own. I smiled through my tears and nodded. Craig was my fearless leader, and if he said it would be okay then I am sure it would.

Craig and I had been friends for…well, it seemed like forever. He was quiet, and stoic, and liked to listen rather than talk. He had ink black hair that jutted out from under his yellow and blue hat, and bright blue eyes that shone out like diamonds against his pale, gothic complexion. Craig took nothing from no one; he would tell it like it is, and he would defend his friends to the death. He became my best friend after an unlikely event, and since then we have been inseparable.

Whenever people made fun of me for my paranoia, my spastic movements, or my addition to coffee Craig was there to tell them to shut up. He would walk me home every day and hold my hand if I was scared. He would sneak over to my house, and grab the spare key from under the potted plant and crawl into bed with me when he knew I was having a terribly rough day, or just needed company. Craig was perceptive like that; he didn't ever say much, and he didn't need to.

We moved a week later. All my worldly possessions were packed into mother's small compact car, and the engine was huffing away trying to heat the inside of the car while I stood just outside. Craig was hugging me, silent tears dripping into the cloth of my jacket. "I'm gonna miss you. Don't forget to write okay? And you have my phone number? Call me every day!" he said, his face splotchy from his breakdown, snot dripping out of his nose a little bit. It was pretty gross, and I remember flinching because germs, but also of pulling tissue from my jacket and handing it to him. He smiled wryly, blowing his nose.

"I'll c-c-call you when we g-g-et to the house, ngh… And I'll write you every week!" I promised, hooking my pinky with his. His face flushed, but a small smile crept onto his face. A rare thing for Craig Tucker, mind you. "D-d-don't worry! I'll be back, okay?" I say, trying to keep my voice straight.

He looks at me defiantly, eyebrows crunched together in thought. It kind of scares me. Then he grabs the front of my jacket, and I scream out loud and it's muffled because he presses his lips to mine. And I tense up, eyes wide in shock. It's messy, and wet from his tears, and he doesn't know what he is doing but it's so sweet and it's over before I can enjoy it. He blushes, averts his diamond eyes and messes with the strings on his hat nervously. "J-jesus Christ! What was that f-f-f-for? I stammer out, clamping my hands over my mouth.

"I gave you my first kiss. Its cause I love you, okay? Please don't be gone too long. I dunno how I'm gonna be able to stand Clyde without you," he mumbles. Mother rolls down the window and says it is time to go. I jump at her words, not wanting to go so soon; I feel the tears welling up. Craig pulls me into another hug, and I feel his breath hot and ragged on my cheek. "Don't forget me," he demands once more, and then steps back from me. I open the car door, and get inside. I stare out of the window, fogging it up with my breath and watch as Craig becomes distant as mom drives away.

Within another two weeks mother and I get settled in and I begin a new school. I write a letter to Craig every day, and I ship off envelopes stuffed with them each week (mother says we cannot afford that many stamps, so I have to make packets). I don't like my new school, and it is hard to make friends; the town is bigger than South Park, but everyone seems to know everyone else and people don't want to be friends with the freaky new kid. So, I keep to myself and I write letters to Craig, and check the mail every day to see if his has come yet.

Three years pass before mother gets married again. I don't like the thought of someone replacing dad, but it makes her happy. I haven't seen mother smile that big in ages, and so when she asks if I like Harry I say yes through gritted teeth. And, to be honest, Harry isn't half as bad as it could be…at least at first. He's a tall, broad shouldered man who works in an office; he has tanned skin, and strong hands, and very stern dark eyes. He scares me a lot, especially whenever he stares at me, but he makes mother laugh and he brings her presents and takes her to nice dinners.

They get married on a nice spring day, surrounded by our family and Craig is even flown down to attend with me. I'm the ring bearer, and mother smiles so big at me as I walk down the aisle. She looks beautiful, even more so than she always does. Craig and I eat wedding cake by the plateful until we get sick and pass out in the basement of Harry's house that mother and I moved into. Grandma and grandpa stay with Craig and me while mom and Harry go on their honeymoon. We spend most of our time eating pizza, playing the N64 Harry got for me as a late birthday present and talking about our lives as of lately.

I remember Craig's kiss when I left and one night while we play board games I get up the nerve to ask him about it. He swallows his mouthful of coca-cola quickly, blushing till he is a bright cherry red. I fiddle with the rim of my coffee mug and take a large gulp just for something to do. Craig puts down his own cup and crawls across the Sorry! board, knocking over our pieces and sprawling out the cards. I make a strangled noise, about to reprimand him for ruining our game when one of his hands grabs the back of my head and he pulls me forward into another kiss.

It's still messy, but extremely Craig. He turns his head slightly to deepen it, his tongue tracing my bottom lip and I gasp involuntarily. It feels amazing; my heart feels like it might explode in my chest. Because it seems right, I bring my hands up from their place on the floor to touch the tufts of hair that poke out from under his stupid, wonderful hat. My fingers find their way under his hat and to his actual hair. He moans as I grab onto it and pushes forward causing me to lose my balance and fall backward. I don't care, all I can think about is Craig's body pressed to mine and how his tongue is fighting mine for control, or how his hands are now gripping my hipbones, his cold hands touching my hot skin.

I am on fire. Soft moans of pleasure escape my throat, and it's embarrassing because I don't mean to make them. Craig likes them, I guess, because whenever he heard them he growls happily and just kisses me deeper. We are clumsy and have no idea what we are doing. Craig's mouth moves from mine to my neck, and he kisses hard and passionately down to my collar bone. Sometimes he nips at the flesh, making my body react wildly. In between his lips connecting with my flesh he is whispering words. "I love you, Tweek. I love you so much," he says, then grabs my face and passionately brings his mouth down on mine.

Craig Tucker just said he loved me. Craig Tucker just said he _loved_ me! I smile and continue kissing him with renewed passion, because I'm pretty sure I love Craig too. For a moment he stops and presses his forehead, now coated in a thin sheet of sweat, against my own. We are both breathing deeply, chests heaving up and down. I lick my lips and taste him still there, and feel how swollen my lips are right now. It's a wonderful feeling. I feel a laugh bubble in my throat and it comes out softly, at first, but then it crescendos and Craig is staring at me like he is worried until I leap at him and hug him and he starts to laugh to.

I don't have to say it, because he knows.

X

When my mom and Harry get back from their honeymoon they convert the basement into a bedroom for me. It has its own bathroom and it's spacious, and quiet the way I like things to be. I have a bookshelf decked out with Spiderman comic books, manga, and science fiction novels. My bed is near the back of the basement, adorned in grey sheets and pillows. My walls are painted a soft blue that calms me down, for whatever reason; I have a sizeable closet for my clothes and a dresser near my bed. Mother hangs up pictures of her and I, of Craig and I, and even one of dad that I know Harry doesn't like. I put up the random movie and video game posters I am fond of, and Harry builds me a place to put my small television and video game systems. Overall, it's fairly homey and as the years would go by I would add to the posters until every inch of blue was covered, and every surface was covered with sticker, or action figures or things I would collect.

Before Craig had to leave we put glow in the dark stars on my ceiling, and he gave me a stuffed tiger to remember him because we weren't sure when the next time would be. I sleep with it every night, and make sure to put him in the center of my bed when I make it in the morning. I put all of Craig's notes and letters in a binder and hid it in the air vent of my room so that no one would find it. Love letters, pictures, and daily conversing filled my binder, and whenever I felt sad or missed Craig I would read them and I'd feel better.

Everything seemed to be going fine until I got in trouble for getting into a verbal fight with someone at school. I guess I've mentioned it before, I don't make friends easily and so I didn't have any where I currently lived. Harry threw away the coffee machine- asshole…-and so I didn't drink nearly as coffee which made me less twitchy, but I was still nervous and paranoid and tended to make small startled noises when agitated. I got picked on a lot, and I started fighting back at some point. You can't let people push you around or they will think they own you.

I came home to Harry and mother sitting at the dinner table reading over a piece of paper. Mother's face was pulled into a stern look, her lips stretched to a taut line. Harry looked stormy, to say the least, and when the door shut and I tried to sneak past the opening to the kitchen he called my name. "Could you come here please?" he asked, tapping his fingers on the table. I sighed; bracing myself for what I knew was not going to be a fun talk. I placed down my backpack and took a seat across from them at the short, round kitchen table. "Can you explain to your mother and I why you were in a fight at school?" Harry asks, his dark eyes narrowing. It's a look I get from him often.

Harry was fine for the first few months after they got married, but then he changed. The first thing he did was ban coffee in the house, throwing away my coffee maker and all the beans I had collected. He said coffee was bad for you, and that it wasn't allowed in the house anymore. Well, fuck you too dude. Then he handed out chores that I never wanted to do, he wanted me to call him 'dad' or 'sir' which I wasn't keen on ever doing, and he began to treat me like an annoying gnat whenever I was around. And, it wasn't so bad I couldn't handle it; I'm stronger than I look, and he made mother happy which was all I cared about. I wasn't going to ruin another marriage…

"Some g-g-guy called me a 'paranoid, pussy bitch'." I replied tartly, picking at my uneven nails. They were going to have to be trimmed later; I hated uneven nails.

"And you thought it appropriate to reply back to him?" It's a rhetorical question, but I haven't had a chance to sneak out to get coffee yet, so I'm on edge and not in the mood for Harry's shit. I narrow my eyes at him and answer keenly,

"Yes. I thought it highly appropriate to tell him his mom is a carpet munching, cum dumpster."

"Tweek!" my mother shrieks, her face turning red with embarrassment. She hates when I use profanity, and I look away abashedly. I apologize to her under my breath and she grabs my hand in hers which means she forgives me. She's used to my mood swings by now; Harry isn't, though. I can feel the animosity rolling off him in waves.

"Go to your room. Now." He growls out under his breath. I turn my face to him and give him one more defiant glare before kicking back my chair, grabbing my book bag and stomping down to my room. I toss the bag in the corner and plop down onto my bed. Fucking asshole, I think, twisting my pillow angrily and wishing it was Harry's head. I don't know how long passed before the steps echoed down the stairs. I glance up and see Harry standing against the wall, arms crossed in what I guess he thinks is a threatening pose.

I may not have hit my full growth spurt, but I'm not a weakling and my eighth grade mind believes I could take him out if I wanted to. "What do you want?" I snap. He huffs, and strides over to my bed. I sit up, about to hurl something nasty his way, when his hand flies across my face in a resounding _smack_! I'm dumbstruck; did he just slap me? Shaking, I bring a hand up to touch the place where he hit me. It hurts. No one has ever hit me, no adult that's for sure.

"What the fuck?" I spit out venomously. He glares down at me.

"Take off your shirt."

"What?"

"Take off your shirt, boy. You need to learn a lesson."

"You fucking pervert, ngh. F-f-fuck off!" did I mention my stammering comes back when I am angry? Harry's hand snatches my hair in his meaty fists and throws me against the wall. He pulls out a switchblade he keeps on him at all times and cuts my shirt from the bottom up to the collar before I can turn around. He just cut up my fucking favorite shirt! I make an angry noise and turn when I see he has his belt in his hand. "The fuck you gonna do with that?" I ask, actually feeling the effects of fear.

Kenny McCormick's dad used to beat him with a belt. He would come to school, shuffling slowly through the hall at a snail's pace, and refusing to change for gym. When the teacher made him once, we all saw the remnants, old and new, of the belt lashings. The teacher never made Kenny change again.

"W-wait!" I say, tossing my hands up in surrender. I may be defiant, but I'm not stupid. Harry falters for a second, eyeing me suspiciously. "You don't…you don't have to hit me. I won't talk back anymore, and I won't fight at school anymore."

"It's too late for that," he replies after a few strained moments of silence, raises the belt and brings it down on me.

X

After that the beatings became regular. Mother was always gone when they happened, and whenever Harry would disappear to the basement to let off anger on me for no reason he would tell her we were bonding. Isn't that funny? I guess I could have said something, I could have told mother or a counselor, or a police officer. I mean it technically was child abuse, but I couldn't. I just could not face the sad look in her eyes, or that she might not believe me. What would I do then? So, I kept it hidden even from Craig. The marks he made were always hidden by clothes, and he never touched my face.

If it was going to keep mother happy, being with Harry, then I would take the brunt of his anger.

Sometimes when he hit me I would drift off to a land all of my own; I would fly away from my body and become a prince, or a knight. That way I wouldn't have to feel the blows, or hear the ragged breath he exerted as he continued the abuse. In my Dreamland I could be anyone and anything, and no one could hurt me or touch me. I fought dragons, rescued damsels that always looked like Craig, made friends with natives of other, far off lands, spoke different languages, and could do whatever I desired. And when I fell back to reality after some epic battle Harry was always gone and I was alone again, just how I liked it.

The abuse was only skin deep, and while it hurt my body would heal. As long as it went no further I could handle it until I was eighteen and then I would run.

X

The first time he went too far I was a sophomore in high school. Mother was out grocery shopping, as she usually did between 2 and 4 on Tuesdays. I took a quick glance on my watch and noted the time was barely past 2:30 PM. Great. I would have the house to myself for a while, a rare thing nowadays with mother repainting the house. I locked the front door behind me and wrinkled my nose at the smell of fresh pain that wafted into my face.

As I made my way past the opening to the kitchen and to my basement stairs I saw Harry sitting in the living room, beer in his hand. I scoffed at him, but kept my mouth shut. I was in no mood to deal with him or his shit today. Earlier in the week I had mouthed off to him at dinner and he beat me with his thickest belt until I passed out from pain (32 welts on my back proved it was, unfortunately, reality).

"Hello," I commented flippantly, heading directly for the stairs now. Harry shifted, his body now turned towards me. His eyes were glassy and narrowed and something in them told me I needed to just run to my room right then. But, I paused mid-step and stared back, making this a staring contest that I wanted to win. My eyes watered and I blinked, cursing myself and rubbing them irritably. Not wanting to waste any more time in his company I grabbed the railing and began my descent.

That was when something smashed into the back of my head, hard. I stumbled forward, falling to my knees in a pile of green glass. I was seeing stars, and my legs felt weak. "Wh-what?" I mumbled out, turning to look back at Harry when his large hand came from nowhere and pushed me back. I couldn't catch myself, and so I tumbled down the stairs until I hit the wall. My forehead had slammed against the stairs a few times creating a gash in it and allowing blood to trickle into my line of sight. My limbs were twisted at awkward, inhuman angles, making it hard to move without pain ricocheting through every part of me.

Fuck, I thought through the fog in my mind. I had to get up, and to the bathroom where I could lock the door. But I was paralyzed with pain and fear, and the blood that obstructed my view and coated my hands made me panic. I hate blood; I hate it, hate it, hate it! I could feel glass shards in the back of my head, continuously giving me that throbbing, and I could taste blood now in my mouth, and oh my god it was disgusting.

"Come here, you little shit," I hear before I feel rough hands grabbing fistfuls of my hair. It's harder then he normally pulls, causing me to cry out. I try to form words; to ask what I did to deserve this much pain, but nothing comes out. I can't find the words. So instead I flail, and I punch and I try to get him to let me go. Harry ignores me, mumbling under his breath as he drags me over to the edge of my bed. Pushing forward he throws me to my bed, and I hit my face hard on the mattress, soaking it with blood. I move my head minimally, turning to look at the stuffed tiger I sleep with every night. Wincing, I try to move and reach out to him but that's when Harry grabs my wrist and flips me over.

He shoves a piece of paper in my face, and my eyes strain to focus on what it is. I inhale sharply when I realize what it is. Oh fuck. My report card. I was planning on destroying it when I get home, before mother or this fucker could see it but I forgot. And now I was going to have to deal with the consequences. "You got all C's, boy. And what does it say here?" he asks in a voice of fake surprise.

"S-stop..ngh," I whine out, sounding pitiful.

"Oh. It seems to say that you've been in a handful of fights again. This time physical, oh my! Whatever will we tell your mother?"

"Pl-please d-d-d-d-don't…" I beg.

"I think we will let you explain to her why her son is a good for nothing," his fist hits my right eye, "lazy," my lip splits open at the punch, "incompetent," I don't know when but he took his belt off some time ago and it hits the front of me so hard I feel as if my skin is splitting, "little bitch of a boy." His chest is heaving from all the expended energy. My vision is blurry but I can still make out his form looming over me, belt clenched tightly in meaty fists.

With the last bit of my strength I try to pull myself up on my bed and away from him. His free hand grabs the back of my hair and yanks so hard I cry out, making a strangled and pained noise. It sounds foreign in my ears.

"I'm going to break you, Tweek. You are going to obey me, and do as I say exactly as I say it. No more of this shit; if I say jump you say 'how high, sir?'" A muffled sound flies past my ears and then, out of the corner of my good eye, I see his pants have fallen to the floor.

Panic floods every orifice. I scramble blindly, but get nowhere. He pulls down my pants; I scream. He shoves my report card down my throat, and when I spit it back out and call for help, for someone, for anyone to _please please please_ come help me he grabs my stuffed tiger and does the same thing.

I shut my eye. I need to escape, I need to get away. This is not happening, I am not here…

And then I'm not.

_I grab tufts of dull, cracked, yellow grass under my hands. I am bleeding, but only a bit. My body hurts, but it shall recover. Before me stands a troll; its skin is sallow, and it's eyes a watery, beady black. It has six big, strong, long arms, but luckily only one is wielding a crudely made club. It gives a mighty roar, spit dripping from its rotting teeth and it smashes a tree nearby to bits. _

_Sighing, I begin to stand. I cannot give up now. I cannot go back. A low growl issues next to me and I see my faithful companion- a Bengal tiger- with its fur standing on edge and sharp teeth barred, ready to snap. It turns its massive head to me, giving a low purr as I reach out and stroke its head. _

"_Let's go," I say, and we charge…_

His hands roughly grab onto my hips, and I'm sure they are bruising further. I can feel him, positioning himself, ready, and I feel hot tears running down my face…

_Sword is out in less than a second, shiny and sharp and new. I can do this. I am stronger than this beast that has torn this land apart. My pet leaps and slashes at the troll, distracting it while I race under it and slice through its ankle. It cries out, and stumbles as I climb upon my pet and get a safe distance away. When it hits the ground, it quakes and the club falls away, out of it's reach. _

_Now! I race forward, sword pointed at the perfect place to land a deafening blow. I will win, I will save this land, and I will save the princess. _

_But I don't pay attention. _

"This will be a lesson to you," I hear Harry whisper, his hot breath going over my ear. I whimper, a sad sound coming from someone who tries so hard to be more than that…

_I don't see one arm, hiding out of sight and waiting. I don't see it raise as I charge in blindly, and I don't know what it happening until pain courses all over, and both my pet and I get smashed into the ground in a world of pain. _

X

I wake up in darkness; complete and total darkness. For a moment I forget where I am, and then when I do I wish I hadn't. My body throbs, dull then sharp. The tiger has somehow made its way out of my mouth, or maybe it was taken out? I never ask, so I never know. But it has slobber, and blood, and tears all over it. The orange fur is stained, and I had bit down so hard onto it to hold back my screams and sobs that I have punctured the cloth. Stuffing pours out like blood.

All I know is that I am alone in the darkness. And that I am covered in blood and sweat and….ugh. Using everything in me, I will my body to get up and go to the bathroom. Slowly I make my way there and turn on the light, which blinds me. When my eyes do adjust, however, I cringe at the sight in the mirror.

I'm naked, head to toe. My right eye is purple and black and swollen shut, the other one is ringed in bruises, but otherwise okay. Bottom lip split, bruises on my cheekbones and forehead, and what looks like two hands around my throat. I reach up with shaky hands and touch them. They throb in response. My chest is littered with lacerations from the belt, and my hipbones bear bruises from…from… It's foggy when I try to recall it; lots of white and static. So, I stop. There's a trail of blood going down the inside of my thighs…. I vomit in the sink, my stomach cleansing itself, I guess.

My blonde hair sticks to my face from sweat, and everything, _everything_ is covered in blood.

I am ashamed; I feel so ashamed. I start to cry, softly, holding it in as long as I can. My knees buckle, and even though I'm rail thin, my legs can no longer support my body. I collapse in a pile on the floor, curled into a ball and crying.

X

I decide to tell no one. Not mother, not even Craig. I throw the stuffed tiger away; it's too hard to look at. I also take down the pictures I had up on Craig and I hide them in my air vent. I don't open it again for years.

When mother asks, through her hysterics and tears, about my bruises I lie. It is the first time I have ever lied to my mother's face. But I cannot tell her, I can never tell her. I'm too ashamed of myself, for letting it happen in the first place… "A fight, mother. I have been getting into fights at school," my voice is not my own. Harry watches from behind my mother, and hugs her tight when she loses it. She kisses every bruise, being mindful not to press too tight. She says she will call the school, and I beg her not to.

Through a knitted brow she concedes and makes my favorite for dinner. I can't touch it.

This is when it begins for me. Everything I had tried so hard to suppress- my insomnia, my depression, my mood swings- come back harder than before. I sleep only one hour a night, the rest of the night I make webcam videos, or write stories in the journal mother got me. I try to eat, but usually I can't. Something in me craves food, but my stomach has other plans. When I do it, it's only two to five bites- that's all I can handle. Mostly I just puke it up. I become secluded, hiding in my room whenever I am home. My moods fluctuate, I can't control my body and so I tremble and shake constantly. My bed is now a symbol of evil, so I sleep (_when_ I sleep) in my bathtub sometimes, but mostly in the corner farthest from anything.

Harry continues. He doesn't seem to need a reason after the first time. He never bruises my face anymore, but he leaves more scars by way of his belt, and he takes what he wants when he wants. I can't fight it, so I go to Dreamland and fight monsters. I'm getting better, so now at times I win against them. When he is done he sneers down at me and calls me pathetic; I stare past him, unmoving until he leaves. I then shower and crawl, naked, into the corner of my room where I either cry until I pass out or rock back and forth while mumbling to myself.

I am going insane. Mother can see it. And Craig can see it.

Mother takes me to see someone, a shrink. They diagnose me, and I am given medication for my depression and I go to counseling. None of it helps. I take my medicine sometimes, but it makes me bland and like a zombie. Mother gets mad at me when I don't, so I do my best to please her. She understands what I am going through- these manic-depressive episodes I get. At least she tries. She doesn't question me, and she just tries to deal.

Craig is an entirely different story.

I don't tell him what happened, but somehow he knows something is wrong. We talk on AIM, when it was actually a thing, and over Facebook messaging and he won't let up. I tell him nothing is wrong, I'm just depressed. He asks why? There must be something that led me to it; I was doing well battling everything. What broke me down, he wonders.

He says he is going to find out. He says, "I love you Tweek, I just want to help."

And I cry, and cry, and cry because I love him too, but I cannot let him in my life. I want to tell him, and I almost do. That's when I realize this cannot go on. I have to let him go, and no because I want to but I need to protect myself, and my shame. I need to protect my mother and her happiness. We have a nice home, we make good money, and I am already fucking everything up with my crazy problems. Even though, in my head, I know I'm not to blame I blame myself.

It is all my fault. If I had done something different, this never would have happened.

We were on the phone when it happened. He was talking about coming down to visit soon, how he had gotten a job babysitting three nights a week and they paid well. I nodded, though he couldn't see, and spoke when appropriate. It hurt to hold the phone because Harry had boxed my ears a few days before for breaking a glass.

"What is going on Tweek?" he asked in that oh so attractive, but nasally, voice he has. It's a simple enough question, but the implication makes it dangerous. He isn't just asking what is going on like right now. He wants to know what the fuck is making me a neurotic, angry, moody, stammering little shit.

"Nothing. W-what make you say that? Ngh…" I fidget with the ends of my hair. "I need a haircut. What do you think?" I ask, trying to desperately change the subject. Sometimes it works; sometimes Craig gets distracted easily and it is onto the next topic. But sometimes, like right now I am guessing, he is going to be a fucking prick.

"You've been acting weird for weeks, dude. It's getting on my nerves. What aren't you telling me? You haven't even written me a letter, did you get my last two?" his voice is distressed. I can imagine him sitting on his bed, wrapped up in a blanket and hunched forward in annoyance and worry. One hand would be pushing his bangs back, his eyes scanning his bed sheets as if they would give him the answers he wants.

"Nothing is w-wrong, dude. Just drop it."

"No! I won't just drop it Tweek. Something is going on," he trails off.

"I'm fine. I'm happy. I'm s…I'm safe." I stammer and it is the biggest mistake I make. He catches on, his breath hitching as I hold mine and pray he didn't hear it.

"You stuttered."

"I always stutter."

"Not like that. You paused, as if you were thinking. And it's probably because it isn't true! Is someone hurting you, man? You can tell me. I just wanna help…"

I know you do, I think. My mouth cannot accept that. "There isn't anything you can do, Craig. Even if there was something wrong- and there isn't!- what could you possibly do all the way out in South Park?" it comes out bitter and angry, more so than I mean it to be. "I have a good life here, a life where I have been given opportunities. What are you doing with yours? Planning to stay in fucking South Park for forever, get a house, a meager job, and have a family? Live you're fucking American dream? I can't do that! I can't. I have to look after my mother; I have to make her happy. She is happy here, in Texas with H-Harry and I. And you need to stop!"

Silence. Absolute, bone quaking silence.

"What did Harry do to you?" he asks so softly I wonder if he really even said that. Rage boils in me; no! No! He cannot know; no one can ever fucking know.

"Harry didn't fucking do anything! It's none of your business Craig! Butt the fuck out of my life, you fucking asshole! Go live your perfect life and leave me alone!" I throw my cellphone across the room where it hits the wall, hard. Hard enough to break it into pieces. I didn't mean to throw it that hard, but I am so mad. I am so, so, so mad. How dare he? How fucking dare he? He was so close, he almost found out. He can't know. Not ever.

I break down, hands fisted in my hair and pulling too hard. I bite my tongue and hide he tears that threaten to cascade down my face. Harry will be mad when he sees the phone- it's a piece of shit but he will still call me a wasteful little shit and I'll get it. I know I will… Hot tears hit my feet as the dam opens and I am flooded with emotion.

X

I tell mother and Harry I do not want to speak to Craig anymore. It isn't really the truth, and not what I want at all, but if I talk to him I will tell him. That cannot happen. Harry must have an inkling as to why because throughout my explanation he is grimacing and sneering behind mother. She sighs, sadness in her eyes at the loss of my only friend, but she understands. She says she does anyways.

When he calls they tell him I am out. Yes, they will write down a message and tell me. Sure. After ten weeks of avoiding him, of deleting him from every aspect of my life he stops. Craig Tucker is erased from my life for good.

X

The day Harry tried to kill me was the day I did something I had vowed never to do: I told someone.

It was just at the start of winter break and mother was away at a conference in Colorado. This left me with little to do but sit in the corner of my room and read, maybe play a game or two. It also meant that it was just Harry and I in the big, empty house. We avoided each other, as usual. He never sought me out unless it was for something…gratifying.

It was a Sunday, and I was taking a bath to calm myself down. Finals had put me into a state of mental instability, more than normal, and sitting in a tub of hot water and bubbles somehow relaxed me if I didn't think of all the filth I was in. It had been a rough week because I couldn't keep anything but water and coffee yogurt down, and even then I'd puke it up later. Sleep was a mystery to me even before that, but now it wasn't anywhere to be found. My emotions were a whirlwind: one moment I was happy, jovial, and high spirited; the next I was sobbing in a corner wanting to kill myself.

My head was halfway under the water, hair spilling out in tendrils before me. Steam billowed up from the water's surface, mixing with the kinda-cold-kinda-not air outside. I blew bubbles under the water and watched them disappear upon the surface.

What was I supposed to do until mother got back? I guess just sit in my room and read and maybe try not to have a breakdown. I was certainly not planning on going upstairs. That was "Harry" territory and I didn't feel like getting in trouble for getting in his way, or existing or whatever.

I shut my eyes and dipped my head completely under, allowing the water to swell over me and cover me completely. I imagine that I am able to breathe underwater, and that I can swim fast as a fish without having fins. I could live on the bottom of the ocean, and be friends with all the aquatic life and talk to them. Like Aquaman, but not as gay.

My dream was interrupted by a loud thud coming from upstairs. I bolted upright, sloshing water over the side of the tub. My heart is racing, and my breath comes out ragged. Another loud noise, and then I hear Harry cursing. This cannot be good, my mind registers. I quickly drain the tub and step out into the steamy room. Maybe he won't come down, I pray, maybe I won't have to suffer for this.

This is shot down when I hear heavy footsteps descending the stairs. Panic flushes through my body and I quickly shuffle on new boxers and go to hide in the now empty tub. Maybe he won't check in here, maybe he will leave. I shut the curtain quietly, and curl into a ball. He reaches the bottom of the stairs and I hear him toppling over my books as he calls for me. "Get out here, Tweek!" his voice slurs, so I know he is drunk or has been drinking at least. I curl into myself till I feel almost nonexistent.

I hear him breaking things, throwing things, and destroying things I'm sure I absolutely love. I should be used to it by now. I grip onto my hair and rock slowly. When I hear the doorknob turn I know he is going to come in; why didn't I lock the fucking door?! "Tweek," his voice growls, possessive and angry like an animal's. A whimper escapes my mouth, and I slap my hands over it even though it's useless.

He's heard it.

_In my mind I am a scuba diver. I am exploring a cave under the water; it's so dark, the only light I can see is from my flashlight. Is it night or day above this water? Who knows. Bubbles flow up as I take a breath; I still have a lot of oxygen in my tank, so I venture deeper into the cave to explore. _

_Black water._

_Deep water. _

_It's quiet, but what else would it be? I feel my way inside, maneuvering with my hands around the edge of the cave. The light from the flashlight echoes off the wall, casting eerie shadows and I wonder if I am truly alone. When was the last time I saw another lifeform?_

_As if to answer my prayers, a tentacle snakes up and wraps around my waist. _

The curtain makes a snapping noise as it opens. I look up, eyes wide in shock and hands still tangled in my hair. Harry glares down at me with his shit brown eyes and his shit brown stare and I know there is a storm coming for me. "Get up, Tweek. Get up right now."

_In shock I scream out, but it's useless really. I rearrange my flashlight with trembling hands to focus it on whatever has a hold of me. _

Because I don't respond he grabs my wrist and pulls. The tub is still slippery with droplets of water and I slip and my forehead hits the edge of the tub. Harry laughs and grabs my hair, seeing as my wrist is getting us nowhere. "Stupid little shit," he mumbles and pulls my body- all ninety fucking pounds of me- out of the tub and onto the cold tile floor. He hovers over me, his shadow covering me like a dark storm cloud.

I'm woozy from the blow to my head, so I lay there on the ground. Harry nudges me with his boot, calls my name. I ignore it, instead trying to curl up tighter and disappear completely. When he doesn't get the response he wants he kicks harder.

_A giant squid is in front of me, with giant blue rings that glow in the light. I struggle against it, trying to pry its giant tentacle from around my waist; it only squeezes tighter. I have no weapon. I have nothing I can use to get myself out of this. In the back, in the shadows of the water I see seven more tentacles rise up and float with the ocean. _

"Get, up!" he screams and that's when it really begins.

He brings his leg back and swings it forward with all the force he can muster into my stomach. I scream out, and clutch at my abdomen. He reels back and does it again, again, again. I start to cough up blood. I try to push away his foot, and one time as he pulls back I grab his leg and bite his leg so hard I can taste _his_ blood in my mouth. As he jumps back, clutching his leg, I try to crawl away. But everything hurts so badly that I don't get far before he bends down and grabs my hair, pulling my head back and straining my throat. I want to choke out an apology, but I cannot find the strength to get the words out.

"You little piece of shit! How dare you fucking bite me," he snarls in my ear before throwing my head forward into the edge of the doorway.

_I'm struggling, I'm struggling. I'm wasting air. _

_Another tentacle grabs my arm, and another wraps around my leg. I cannot move. I am panicking. One tentacle snakes around my tank of air, threatening to crush it with one single movement. _

Again, and again my head gets shoved against the door or on the floor. Blood marks appear where my head has made contact. There is so much blood; my body is growing so weak. I just want to go to bed. I gurgle out blood as Harry rolls me onto my back. I wiggle my digits, just to make sure I can still do something, anything.

That's when Harry's hands are gripping my throat, overlapping each other because I'm so thin and he slowly begins to apply pressure.

He starts trying to strangle me.

_All I can think of is I will not die here. I will not die like this. Not by some creature, not alone. Not without saying goodbye to those I love: the beautiful lady that is my mother; the raven haired prince that haunts my sleep. And I decide that this is not how it will end. I will fight back, and for once… I will win. _

I realize I am going to die if I don't do anything. I look around the room wildly for anything within reach to immobilize him for a moment. That's all I need, a moment.

The plunger is the only thing within reach; Harry's grip is tightening to dangerous levels. I see stars, I cannot breathe. So I grab the plunger and hit him in the head with it. It startles him enough to get him to let of my throat and that's what I use everything in me to push him back so hard that his head hits the edge of the toilet.

_I remember then, that I have a knife in my suit. With trembling hands I grab it and I slice. The creature reels back in pain, blood now in the water- dancing up, up, up above us. While it is in pain, I swim away as fast as I can. Now is the time to flee, not fight. _

With his weight off me, I scamper out of the bathroom. He has destroyed my room completely: my books are ripped and tossed carelessly around, my bed sheets flung from their perfectly folded place, and he has even destroyed a few of my favorite posters. But I don't have time to dwell on that. I hear him cussing at me from the bathroom, and when the word 'kill' reaches my ear that's when I bolt up the stairs like a frightened rabbit.

_I make it out of the cave and fight for the surface. As it inches closer I can see sunlight trying to fight its way down to me. I'll see the sun again. _

Clad only in my boxers, bleeding and bruised, I break through the front door and onto our porch. I take a quick glance back, but I don't see Harry climbing the stairs. Yet. My feet fly across the yard, across the asphalt, across to the neighbor who owns like then cats, and makes stale brownies for mother. I collapse against her screen door, my fists banging hard and fast. And they hurt as they connect with the screen, and sometimes I hit the doorbell. And I am screaming for help, please.

The light of the porch comes on, and she opens the door. She has a frying pan in one hand, but she lowers it as she sees me. "Tweek, sweetheart," her voice is kind and soft. I stumble on my feet, and as I fall into the bushes I can feel myself smiling.

_As my head breaks the surface, I know I am going to be okay. _

X

The neighbor called the police and the police took Harry to jail. They questioned me for hours, but they never pressed too hard. Mother was called, and she cried over the phone into my ear as I assured her I would be okay. The police took pictures of me: a black eye, a ring of hand shaped bruises around my throat, my lip was split in a few places, my forehead was covered in dark, black bruises.

"You're lucky to be alive," they told me. I guess that was true.

"Why didn't you say something sooner?" my mother questioned. Would you have believed me if I had?

Harry confessed to almost killing me, and even to prolonged sexual abuse I had suffered. He would be going away for a long time if my mother and the police had anything to say about it. While we sorted everything out I stayed at the neighbors until mother decided that Texas was not right for us, and we should move back to South Park. Why South Park? A network of people I suppose, people she trusted.

"Until I can sell the house, and get this all dealt with you'll have to go live with your father." Mother had said, ruffling my hair. Oh goody. Quality time with father, who I hadn't seen in years in a town I had all but blocked from memory.

This should be good.

X

So, this is how I ended up standing in my old bedrooms doorway with a backpack and a suitcase filled with my worldly possessions three days after the day I had almost died.

Nothing had changed big surprise there. Father picked me up from the airport and gave me a soft hug as if giving me a real one would break me into tiny pieces. My body still looked damaged, and you could see bits of my fucked up face even with my hood up. We drove back to my old house in silence after father bought me a large black coffee which helped calm my nerves. As we drove into South Park, greeted by the old wooden sign, I shuffled low in my seat. All the stores looked the same, all the houses were still the same color, there was still snow fucking everywhere.

I guess one had to leave to change, because nothing seemed out of place here but me.

We pulled up to the house and father helped me pull my one piece of luggage inside and up the stairs. His bedroom was downstairs, so the whole upstairs would be my domain now. "I let your room the same, son. I hope it is okay. We can get you anything you need. Don't be afraid to ask. I'll go make us some coffee and snacks. You have to take your pills with food right?" I guess mother had told him about those.

"Not all of them. Coffee is f-fine." I commented, and turned towards my doorway. He didn't say anything, but quietly descended back down the stairs and into the kitchen. I pushed open my bedroom door and gazed at it with wide eyes.

Boring bed. Boring wall color. Boring bookshelf with boring books. Boring, old television set atop a boring dresser. Boring old nightstand complete with lamp and my old desk was still there. I rolled my suitcase in and plopped my backpack down on my bed. I idly flipped on the lamp and trailed my fingertips over the tops of my desk. Dust covered everything.

Father wasn't lying; he had left it alone.

I began to unpack, slowly. My pill bottles all go on my nightstand, in ascending height order and according to time of day I needed to take them. Once everything is out and put exactly where it belongs, I flop down onto my bed and stare at the ceiling.

Tomorrow I will go back to school- even though I had the choice to wait, what would I do all day but wallow? I will return to the school I never thought I would go back to. Would everyone remember me? That was likely in all actuality given my cracked out youth. Would Craig be there?

I felt something knot in my chest and I gripped my hoody with my right hand. Craig Tucker. The thought of him made my heart tighten, swell, and want to explode. I didn't want to think of it anymore, so I went downstairs for some coffee. That always helped, at least for the moment. But, I would see tomorrow if the one love of my life that I had pushed away was still around. What would I do then? Who knows; maybe he'll ride in on his white horse and save me the way I always wanted him to…

Who am I kidding? I'm the only hero I fucking need.

TBC.


	2. Chapter 2

An update~ I hope you enjoy it. Sorry it took so long, I've just been very busy. Fun fact: half of this was written on my iphone. Also, a quick note: my portrayal of Craig and Tweek in this story is pretty different from what you usually see with CREEK. You'll see what I mean, but keep an open mind about it. Enjoy and please review if you have time.

X

**Dreamland**

A Creek Fanfiction

Chapter 2

_Craig Tucker's POV_

X

Fuck, fuckity, fuck, fuck, fuck!

Anyone who doesn't think that an alarm clock buzzer isn't the most annoying, grating sound on the face of the Earth is a liar. They are a liar and should be tossed into a never ending pit where the only sound they will hear for the rest of eternity is the ceaseless buzzing of a goddamn alarm. And it will always be out of reach, and it will always go off when you're at the peak of a really sweet dream.

As I mull over this rather tantalizing idea, I shove my alarm clock so hard it hits the wall and disconnects itself. Damn straight! I sit up in bed and rub the nasty gunk from my eyeballs before blinking a few times to get adjusted to being alive again. Sunlight tries to peak in through my window, but the horribly hung blanket I tacked over it prevents its arrival. Victorious, I raise my fists into the air as I head into my bathroom to begin my morning ritual.

Quickly, I perchance a look in the mirror.

Short black hair looking like a goddamn mess: check. Crusties lining the inside of shit brown eyes: check. Weirdly grown in stubble all over face: check.

I am a God, I think as I pull the curtain back and step into the waterfall of deliciously orgasmic hot water. Today, I think, I shall use all the hot water so that when Ruby wakes up she gets nothing. This is a perfect plan, and there is no way it could ever, ever backfire. Ever.

Winter break has come to a disappointing close. It's back to school to finish failing my classes, but hopefully somehow graduate come June. It's always sad to see a holiday go and realize that the return of school is nigh. I guess it could always be worse, but this is South Park so it's almost as bad as it gets in my humblest of opinions.

Once I finish with my morning routines I put on my clothes- something simple, jeans, converse, v-neck, hoodie- and make my way downstairs with time to spare before Clyde and Token show up and break down my door. I look in on Stripe, my guinea pig, as he lays curled on his little exercise wheel. His little body rises and falls with each breath he takes and I press my face obnoxiously against the cage's colored wall in case he decides to wake up. He doesn't, so I bid him goodbye and fly down the stairs.

The house is quiet, meaning Ruby is still asleep, and will probably miss class. Dumb bitch. Mom and dad are at their jobs, probably doing absolutely nothing worthwhile except for exchanging boring stories of the break with their co-workers.

I enjoy the silence of my house. I enjoy peace and quiet in the morning; it is a warm up for the events of the afternoon that include my two best friends. Clyde Donovan is about as boisterous as they come; I seriously have to come believe his mother puts drugs in his Wheaties. We have this weird, fake, kind of awesome homosexual relationship together that seems to entertain most of the people we know. But, when you've known someone as long as I have known Clyde it's practically just second nature. Token Black, on the complete opposite of the spectrum, is one cool customer. He's a man of few words, but boy do those words often have an impact. He's polite, and somber, and all the ladies want a piece of him because he was brought up as such an outstanding American citizen. I can't blame him; he is pretty good looking, plus he has this afro thing going on that I like to stick gum wrappers in when he isn't looking.

And I am the asexual piece of shit glue that keeps us all together.

For breakfast I decide on toast and orange juice. It's meager, but I don't really feel hungry this morning. My phone vibrates in my back pocket as I slip the bread into the toaster. It's from Clyde, which doesn't faze me; he is addicted to texting me at all times of the day.

_Good morning, lover~~__(__ღ__ღ__)_

Isn't he just a gem? He's addicted to those fucking emoticons, I am not even sure if he makes them up or Google's them but it's probably the latter because he is a dipshit. I write back a quick, message (**and to you too, my little croissant**) as my warm meal jumps out of the toaster. I grab onto it, successfully burning my hand, and slather it in strawberry jelly- because fuck grape. Instead of sitting at the table like a human being I pop a squat on the counter and peer out our kitchen window, awaiting to arrival of my comrades.

Bzzzt. Another text.

_Uguu~~_(づ￣ ³￣)づ_Speaking of food, you better have some warm meal waiting for me when I get there or you're gonna get it._

**So menacing, my goodness. **

_Shut up, baby. I know it. (__︶__ω__︶__)_

Instead of replying, I snap my phone shut- yes, it 'snaps shut' because my parents don't believe in buying me a new phone when mine is still functioning. A few minutes later I see Token's swanky Benz pull into my newly shoveled driveway. Clyde, instead of waiting for Token to unlock his door, dives out of the window and onto the bank of snow on the edge of the driveway. He brushes snow from his hair and scrambles back onto his feet only to slip on ice and fall back on his ass. Token, on the other hand, simply steps gracefully out of his car and walks up to my door with his hands in his pockets. Clyde reaches out a hand, begs him not to, as Token knocks primly on my front door.

X

The drive to school is filled with Clyde sitting on my lap and screaming at the underclassmen that are walking to the bus stop, and Token kindly telling him to shut up. I look out the window, all the houses we pass blur together in my vision and I sigh. Part of me cannot wait to leave this town behind when I graduate, and another part of me loathes the idea altogether. How do you just pack up and start anew? That idea is completely foreign to me. Will Clyde and Token be there to guide me? Will I even be able to?

My thoughts come to a conclusion when Token pulls into the parking lot and Clyde leaps out of the car, stretching his arms way above his head. "Put your arms down, fatty. No one wants to see your love handles," I comment, slinking out of the car and slinging my bag over my shoulder. Token chuckles and locks the car before pocketing his keys and joining Clyde and I on the walk to campus.

Everyone is talking loudly about their vacation, and some throw faint greetings our way. Token and I, however are too deeply engrossed in Clyde's lovely holiday tale to pay much attention elsewhere. "So, my cousin says to me: Clyde, I bet you can't eat all those tacos in under ten minutes. And, I'm like: shut the fuck up! But there was like fifty tacos there and that is a goddamn challenge and then I remembered I'm not a pussy bitch so I-"

"Let me stop you there," I say, putting two fingers to his lips and successfully shutting him up as Token laughs softly next to me. "I'm sure that this has a wonderful, heat-felt, diarrhea filled ending to it, however… Shut the fuck up." His face falls, a pouted bottom lip jutted out in what he probably thinks will get him a hug. It won't. We stop at our lockers, and get out what we need. Clyde stays silent, thank the lord, and Token packs all his books into one bag like a good student. "You're making me look bad," I groan.

"I can't help it if I've got dashing good looks as well as brains, Craig." Token says, shutting his locker and twisting the lock back on. "Let's get to English," he links his arm with mine and begins to drag me off to class. Clyde holds out his arm for me, and I do the same gesture.

"I'll wait for you," he says in a thick, very bad southern accent. I shed a fake tear and then we turn the corner and he disappears. Token does not relinquish his hold on me until we enter our classroom. Everyone seems to already be in, sharing more bullshit tales. Token makes an effort to smile and talk to Bebe Stevens who is chatting up Butters, but I foil this by jumping on his back so he stumbles backwards and into a desk. He curses at me, blush lighting up his dark skin.

He pushes me away when I try to kiss his cheek, and takes his seat at the back of the class. Token, meanwhile, continues to make dreamy eyes at Bebe who is beyond oblivious to his affections. He's been in love with her since like fifth grade, and I can't really see why except that she has nice boobs- I saw them once in a game of truth or dare, and while I am not a fan of chesticles, I can appreciate.

I make and throw paper balls at his head until our teach walks in.

She's an Indian woman, probably late thirties, but still very pretty with short black hair and a penchant for flowing skirts and wedges. She swoops into the class, textbook clutched against her and skirts billowing behind her. Everyone shuts up. "Good morning!" she chirps, placing everything down on the desk and looking about the classroom. She's the AP English teacher, and she's actually gives pretty interesting readings, so it's one of the classes I try in.

Ms. Brenda flips open her textbook and claps her hands together happily. "Okay class, before we start on fables I have the pleasure of introducing a new student to our class today. Please come in," she beckons as the door to the classroom cracks open. All heads turn in sync; I look on with mild interest. New people hardly mean anything to me- I've got enough friends, thank you very much.

That is until I see the person.  
It's a boy, that much I can gather from his awkward bunny like gait. He shuffles in, back arched forward and hands shoved into his oversized hoody's pockets. His face is covered with the hood and his legs, I can tell, are thin beneath baggy torn jeans. He stops by our teacher's desk and stares at the floor, making scuff marks with the toe of his Vans.

"Would you care to introduce yourself?" Ms. Brenda asks sweetly, smiling. He makes some noncommittal noise, and she scowls. "You'll have to take the hood off, please."

He tenses, and becomes very still for a long moment before his shaking hands come from out of his pockets and grip the edge of the hood. In one fell swoop he pulls it back and a collective gasp echoes along the classroom walls. I even hear my voice lowly uttering a cuss word at the shape of the boy's face.

He's got a sharp, angular face that is covered in black and blue bruises. One bright emerald orb is encased in a bruise that circles his whole eye. His lips are thin and the bottom one is split; he has short, tousled blonde hair that juts out wildly the same way his eyes dart to every corner of the room. They narrow dangerously, daring someone to say anything about his face. He is rail thin- all sharp edges. His nose is long and thin, like the rest of him, crooked as if it had been broken and peppered in light freckles. His ears stick out from his hair ever so slightly, dainty but offset by size able plugs.

He is oddly familiar somehow.

Ms. Brenda asks him once more to introduce himself. In a small voice he says, "My name is Tweek Tweak." Token swivels his head to me and his jaw drops a bit in surprise. I'm frozen in place. No fucking way. Silence resonates as the faces of those who knew Tweek before he left are dazed and shocked by his return and his appearance. Where's the twitchy little coffee freak we all knew in fourth grade? This certainly isn't him before us; it can't be.

"You're the boy from Texas. Whose dad tried to kill you." Everyone turns toward the middle of the classroom where the voice came from. This girl, Milly, is an obnoxious fish-faced girl who has a penchant for opening her mouth when it's not appropriate. Tweek has paled considerably. "I read it in the paper," she clarifies under his stare.

His dad tried to kill him? The thought hardly registers.

Tweek glares at the girl, his lips pursed into a hard, thin line. His eyes are narrowed to deadly slits that remind me of a viper about to strike. Something deadly this way comes. Finally, after what seems like eons of silence, he speaks, "I am. And I would rather you not mention it if your big mouth can handle that sort of r-request." He means business, but the threat is offset by his stammering on the last word.

Token comments on how that name is familiar, and didn't someone by that name used to hold a special place in my now black hole of a heart? I wave my hand dismissively at him, too enraptured in this fiery, feisty person before me.

Milly gulps, splutters for a response and when none comes he asks where he should sit. Ahh, lucky him the only empty seat is next to me. I shoot my hand up quickly, popping the bone in the process. All heads now swivel to me and even Tweek's eyes focus on my face. His expression falters, his eyes go wide and I can visibly see him pale from way back in the room. He looks like a scared field mouse about to dart for the safety of the tall grass. But I'm a skilled predator and he is going nowhere.

"Empty seat here," I offer, patting the fake desk top lovingly.  
"I would rather not sit there," he replies tartly. Cartman 'oooh's under his breath and I flip him off at the same time Tweek scowls in his general direction.  
"It's the only open seat," I snap back, shit eating grin and all. He turns a shade of cherry red, highlighting the dark bruises all over his beautiful face.

"He is right, Mr. Tweek. Please take a seat next to Mr. Tucker." Our teacher ends the staring contest with a final word and whirls around to grab her textbook and a piece of chalk. "Right! Aesop's fables, who read them? They were assigned to you all over break," she rambles on but I am not listening. My eyes greedily watch Tweek as he slowly walks toward his desk, and in turn toward me.

God, it had been so long since we had talked, since I had seen him. I felt like a child who got everything they wanted for Christmas. I was bouncing in my seat and Token was watching with wide eyes to see what the outcome was going to be.

The boy I had fallen in love with so many years back had returned. Something had changed, oh that much was evident in his face, his body language, and the way he talked. I planned to unravel that mystery; I had already figured that Harry was the cause of his pain as supplied with the big mouth bass up front. But what else was there? So much pain lined the corners of his mouth, so much hatred burned in those beautiful green eyes.

He makes no eye contact with me as he scoots into his seat and covers the side of him facing me with his propped elbow. I lean in, grinning. "What's up?" I offer coolly. He makes a small grunt and twists toward the wall, leafing through his textbook for the page Ms. Brenda is on. I poke him and he lets out a loud shriek and throws his textbook in my face.

Too daft to realize when a three pound book is flying at my face, I let it hit me. I fall backwards, arms waving wildly and smacking Token before I crash into the ground. A crowd of people surround me quickly, including Tweek who is closest to me, a look of palpable fear etched on his face. His eyes water, as if he were about to cry, and his hands look like they want to touch my face and make sure I'm okay- but something holds him back.

I groan, simply for something to do. My nose aches, and I am sure it is bleeding but other than that nothing. "Ugh," I touch my nose gently and pull back a hand full of blood. Tweek cringes and reaches for something in his back pocket; tissues, which he hands to me to wipe everything away. I sit up and everything spins. As I wobble aimlessly I reach out and grip onto Tweek for something to keep me steady. His whole body tenses, and I can tell he is uncomfortable. I honestly don't care. "The fuck was that for, you jackass." I growl out, pressing a tissue to ebb the flow of blood.

"I-I didn't mean to," he snaps. "You shouldn't invade people's space. Idiot."  
"I'm the idiot?!" I yell, getting up in his face. He glares resolutely, lips curled back in an almost snarl. "You're the loser who threw a book at my face because I poked you. Jesus Rollerblading Christ." I throw my bloody tissue at him to seal the deal.

He pulls back, and it misses the target. His emerald eyes glimmer dangerously, hatred evident in their depths. It's so very, very attractive; call me a glutton for punishment, call me what you will but you've never seen someone as alive as they can be until you see their dark passenger flicker behind their eyes. I smirk at him, daring him to do something.

Instead he stands up and walks away from the scene altogether. I stare, because I was so sure he would do something, anything! Token picks me up off the floor and Ms. Brenda asks if I need to go to the nurse. The blood has stopped flowing, so that's not necessary anymore. I look back at the blonde, glaring a hole in his head until he turns and I flip him off as the bell rings, signifying an end to class.

X

At lunch Token cheerfully lets Clyde in on the events of AP English. Clyde, being half retard and half ape man, is in none of the classes that Token and I grace except for art at the end of the day. So, rarely does he get such tantalizing tales. He takes another bite of his food and swallows in thought over the whole affair. Then, "So what are you going to do about it?"

I stare blankly. "How do you mean, princess?"  
"He means how are you going to get into his good graces," Token supplies, forking leafy salad into his mouth and then taking a liberal swig of milk. He still drinks milk for lunch...isn't he adorable? "I mean, it's obvious he remembers you, Craig. He just seems very put off by your presence though. Can't imagine why." He quips and I flick mashed potato in his direction. He chuckles under his breath.

"We did end our friendship on a bad note," I recall, "He was really scared of me finding something out... Guess it was found out anyways, huh?"  
"Don't joke about that, Craig. He looked really hollow."  
"Like he needs a cheeseburger?" Goddamnit, Clyde.

Token sighs. "No, like he isn't that same twitchy kid we used to hang out with. He's really changed, Clyde." After that we lapse back into silence at our table. I haven't seen Tweek since the morning, and I can't tell if it's on purpose or not. The Tweek I knew would totally do this to spite me because he would know it would drive me insane.

"I'm gonna go find him!" I yelled, slamming my fists down. Clyde looked at me with a cocked eyebrow. I knew he was wondering how Tweek could rile me up so much when he could hardly get a reaction sometimes. I stuffed the remainder of food in my mouth and packed my bag. Brushing off the crumbs from my shirt, I kissed Clyde on the cheek and bro-fisted Token before dashing out of the crowded cafeteria.

Where did Tweek used to hide when we were young? He got picked on a lot, so he developed this nasty little habit of hiding around school until he thought the coast might be clear. I would often be the one charged with going to find him and bring him back safely to class. Sometimes he would be curled in a small, teeny-tiny ball, his body wracked with silent sobs as he couldn't understand why people were so cruel.

"It's okay," I would tell him, bringing his small, frail form into my arms. "They just don't understand. There is nothing wrong with you, Tweek. You are perfect." And he would tell me-stammering all the while- to shut up as he pushed me away, blush dusting his cheeks. He didn't understand that I would only be so gentle with him; that I hated physical contact (at that age) except when it was with him, because I knew how much a simple touch could do for his nerves. Tweek was my everything, and for some reason the only person besides Clyde and Token who I could connect with on an emotional level.

He became my first love. My only love, if we are being honest. I denounced the whole idea of a romance with anyone when he cut off contact with me. How do you bounce back from a rejection where they won't even acknowledge your existence? Where every letter you send gets returned? And where every phone call is rebuffed with lies from the person I was sure made him call it off to begin with?

Answer is, you don't.  
Hence the creation of "asexual, badass, stoic" Craig Tucker. Confident. Strong. Quiet. Brooding. That is how I remodeled myself, and it's gotten me more attention than I had hoped it would. What can you do though?

Back to the problem at hand: where would Tweek be?

I skid around the corner and bolt towards the library. The silence of it would always calm him, and the people who harassed him never stepped inside it. It was his safe haven. Maybe it still is.

Quietly, I sneak inside and look around quickly. He's nowhere in sight, but that doesn't surprise me. I didn't imagine he would be. The librarian looks up from her station and then goes back to work; guess I'm not interesting enough for her. I flip her off as I run by. I hear her squawk in disapproval.

I take the stairs to the second floor and to the science fiction/nonfiction section. Tweek did always enjoy science fiction. He said space was too scary to be an astronaut. What if his helmet came off in space?! But books were safe, and he always liked the concepts of nebulas, and aliens, and moons and black holes (even though one might swallow us all whole one day).

And sure enough, that is where I found him- hunched over a book on stars. His eyes scanned the page, hands drumming on the covers of the large book in interest. His tongue poked out the corner of his mouth as he leaned so far in the tip of his nose touched the page. Whatever could be that interesting, I wondered as I slowly edged towards him. He didn't notice me, it was like he was somewhere else completely...absorbed in his mind and his stories.

I bent down a few feet for him and mimicked his posture. He didn't look up. I coughed quietly, just to get his attention. He flipped the page and cocked his head.

Okay, this was getting annoying. I got onto my knees and planted one hand on the ground while I took the other and snaked my fingers over the edge of the book. I smiled as his eyes widened and then...

The little fucker slammed the book shut on my hand.

I stifled a scream, pulling my hand back and feeling it throb in time with the beating of my heart. When I looked back up, a sharp retort on the tip of my tongue I had noticed he was on his feet and beginning to bolt. "Oh no you don't, asshole!" I snarled, grabbing his ankle and effectively causing him to tumble forward to the floor. He let out a high pitched squeal as he hit the ground and I crawled over his body and pinned him down. He thrashed like a wild animal caught in a poachers trap; but I was stronger than him.

"S-stop it, let me go!" He growled, his legs trying to buck me off.  
"No! You need to talk to me!" I demanded, tightening my grip on his wrists. He whined sadly, like a kicked puppy and tried even harder. I was having a hard time keeping him from struggling. He was very persistent, but I was not about to give up.

"L-let me go, p-p-please! I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" He begged and thrashed and tears started popping up in the corners of his eyes. I stared, dumbfounded as he continued to apologize. "I'll be good. I'll be g-good I swear. Please don't hurt me, please go away..." His sobs broke through his words, eyes shut so tightly so he couldn't see anything.

I let go of his wrists and he curled up, tight as a roly-poly and continued his cries. I sat back, absolutely shocked at what my actions had done. I hadn't meant to upset him. I hadn't! His small body looked even smaller and he looked so much like the boy I remembered. Something in my chest tightened and clenched. Without thinking, I lay down next to him and hugged him gently, the way I used to.

X

When he stopped crying, he got mad. And when he got mad he punched me in the jaw, effectively popping it and causing it to throb the way my hand had. I let him, because, well, I deserved it. He yelled at me in a clipped voice so the librarian wouldn't hear us and smacked me around some more until his anger subsided and he stopped shaking from the event.

We settled back into his corner of the library, his book lay out in his lap. He glared down at the book, but I knew it was meant for me. "I'm really sorry, Tweek. That was...uncalled for." I said softly, picking at my nails. I took a peek at Tweek from the corner of my eye; his brow was furrowed in frustration and his lips drawn into a thin line. I looked down his crooked nose and noticed a small hole in it. "Do you know you have a hole in your nose?"

He whipped his head towards me. He looked really perplexed, one eyebrow cocked oh so elegantly. "You noticed that?"  
"I notice a lot."  
"You're a creep, that's why."  
"You're still cute as ever. So, you never answered me. Do you know you have that hole? What is it? You don't have a piercing there do you?"

He blushed. "Uh, yeah I do. I don't wear it all the time. Harry never l-liked it."

I can feel his unease rolling off in waves. I don't blame him; if my stepfather tried to kill me I'd be uneasy talking about it too. "So...when did you get your nose pieced? You used to hate needles." I smirk at the memory of him clinging to me as he got blood drawn.

Tweek scoffs, "I got over that fear. There's a lot more scary things out there."  
"What, like monsters?" I joke. But the way he stares down at his hands makes me realize he wasn't joking. Not about that. "I'm-I didn't mean to sound rude."

"I don't think you know another way to be, honestly." He pipes up, smirking at me as if that would make us forget the somber moment that passed between us; his eyes tell another story. They show no brightness, and no joy. Cold like the emeralds they resemble. He reaches into his messenger bag and pulls out a small Ziploc baggy with something inside. He reaches in and pulls out a small silver ring and loops it into his nose. "See? Completely real. Dealt with a needle and all."

"Hmm. I'm impressed. You've really changed." I comment, looking him up and down. He blushes and turns away, scowling.

"Of course I have. It would be ridiculous if I hadn't changed even a smidge," he snaps back, flipping through the pages in his book on nebulas. "You've changed too. Taller," is all he decides to say on it before putting the book back up to his face.

I feel my eyebrows raise at his comment. "Taller? That's it? Not handsomer? More good looking? Luscious?!"  
A laugh breaks from his lips, "Luscious? Honestly, Craig." His laugh is wonderful and I find myself leaning forward, smile wide on my face. He pouts out his lip and looks away shyly.

"You don't stammer anymore. It's weird. Your speech impediments are all gone; no more twitching either." I'm so close to his face and I can feel his heat. I missed being this close; when was the last time I had kissed him? His parents wedding? Probably. Does he still taste like cinnamon and mint? I want to find out, I do, I do!

Tween blushes. "I went to speech therapy for a while, and that cleared most of it up. I still do it when I'm like, emotional I guess." He used air quotes which I found to be very cute. "I'm also on medication that keeps me pretty calm, so that helps." After that he messed with his nose ring for something to do while I mulled it all over.

"You're on medication? I thought your parents didn't believe in medication?" Seriously. His dad wouldn't even let him take an aspirin, said it messed with his mind- which must be clear and steady as a river. I don't think he knows his son very well.

Tweek hummed, dog-earing a page of his book and idly flipping through. "Dad doesn't. Mother does. H-Harry...Harry did." I look at his hands which tremble even at the mention of the name. "I have depression and insomnia. And, uhm, mood swings." His eyes catch mine as he turns and, not realizing how close to him I was, brushes our noses together.

I love how the blush spreads across his cheeks. His green eyes stand out so brightly, especially the one enclosed in the bruise. His breathing has halted; so has mine. Our lips are too close for comfort and I am about to lose control. Neither of us move, though, and so we stay this close for a while.

"Uh," he stammers as he eyes my lips, which tremble and desire to be locked with his. Desire this strong should be a fucking sin. But I can't push my limits, not here and not now. This is the first day we have been reunited and..

Fuck it.

I press my lips to his. It's a soft, chaste kiss. Asking for nothing and giving nothing unless it's made clear. It's not to pressure; it's not meant to scare him. It's meant to remind him of who I am and what I had meant to him. His lips remain sealed shut, and I can tell he is tensing even with my eyes shut. After a few seconds he relaxes and presses back ever so slightly against me.

I pull back and grin charmingly. His eyes remain shut, lips now slightly parted. He looks like an angel even with all the markings and the scars. Finally, Tweek opens his eyes and sees me staring. Immediately his reaction is to scowl, gather his books and stand up.

I let him.  
As he makes to leave, I call out, "It was good to see you, Tweek. I really did miss you." He flinches but says nothing and continues his descent back to the first floor of the library and, eventually, the school.

X

"Tweek and Craigifer sitting in a tree..."  
"Clyde..."  
"K-i-s-s-i-n-g..."  
"Clyde, man, shut up."  
"First comes wuv..."  
"I will shove my foot so far up your ass, Clyde Donovan."  
"Den comes mawwaige-"  
"He's gonna do it. I can pay for the blood to come out of my sears, and I will let him beat you down."  
"Den comes Craigifer with aaaaAAAAAGH!" Clyde shrieks and covers his face defensively as I chuck pens, scissors, and my backpack at his face.

Token chuckles, watching it all unfold in his rear view mirror. Perhaps, I now muse to myself as I turn back to the front seat, I should not have told Clyde. He has been teasing me ever since and my patience is wearing thin. Token had smiled at the news, nodded his head and told me to keep up the good work, man. He is the friend I will write down to have all my possessions when I die. Clyde will get dick, because he is a dick.

"You're an asshole, Clyde. Go die," I growl, sinking into the seat. We are on our way to get some horrible buffet pizza from a horrible pizza buffet.

"You love this asshole. And you'll probably love Tweek's once you-" he never finished that sentenced because I managed to shove my fist into his large, open mouth. Token sighs and keeps driving while Clyde tries to pull my knuckles from his mouth; and it's only when he chomps down on my flesh and I pull away with a small yelp.

I rub the skin, mumbling obscenities at Clyde when Token speaks. "Isn't that Tweek?" Both Clyde and I press our faces to the glass.

And sure enough it is. A few feet ahead of us on the right side of the road is the beautiful Tweek Tweak walking home-at least I think. But it's close to six and pretty dark out so I can't see him having just left school. What's he doing out so late? "Slow down," I demand and Token, luckily, does. I roll down the window as Token slows so we are in step with his awkward gait. "Hey there," I call smiling like a cat. He jumps and lets out a startled shriek.

His eyes go wide; his feet get ready to flee as he observes me before realizing who I am and calming down. "Oh, hey." Is his cool reply and he continues his trek.

"Need a ride?"  
"Not from you."  
"Technically it's Token since he's the one driving."  
"I don't want one."  
"It's cold, Tweek. Just accept my offer. C'mon."  
"I don't need your pity ride, Craig. I can get home just f-fine on my own," his teeth chatter as a particularly nasty gust of wind sweeps by. He shivers and pulls his jacket closer to his frail form.

Token pokes his head into view, "it's freezing. Let me drive you home, man. It's not out of pity at all; we just want to help a friend out." And when he smiles that charming smile of his I see Tweek light up with blush and I know he is going to get in the car.

For a second he looks around, as if seeing anyone will get him out of this. Then he stops his feet and storms over to the car. He reaches for the door handle behind my seat and it clicks open. Clyde slides over, still in awe at Tweek- I don't blame him.

"St-stop staring," he growls, looking out the window. Clyde inches his face in closer. I peek at him from over my seat and he catches my eye quickly before scoffing and finally turning to acknowledge Clyde. "Is there anything particular I can help you with?" He snaps in annoyance. Feisty; me gusta.

Clyde splutters, "Ah, well... Hey!" He finishes lamely and Tweek laughs lightly.  
"Hey, Clyde."  
"You remember me!" He bounces in his seat and Token tells him to calm down. "Guys, he remembers me! It's been forever I figured you would have forgotten!"  
Tweek blushes. He's so cute when I does that, so I poke his cheek from the front seat. He swats at me.

"I have a l-long memory." he says, tucking a wayward strand of blonde behind the shell of his ear. Clyde ogles his plugs and seems to want to reach out to touch them. Tweek notices this and sighs. "Do you want to know how big they are?"

"As badly as Craig wants to know your penis size, yes." Clyde smirks. I frown and Token chuckles. Tweek says nothing, he simply stares un-amused.

"They are ½ an inch." He twists them in his earlobe, and then grimaces and stops.  
"Is that big?"  
"Does it look big?"  
"It looks painful," Clyde adds thoughtfully, examining them closer. "How long did this take you?" He pokes one, and Tweek lets out a soft squeak and jumps back slightly into the door. Token checks them out in the rear view mirror then gives me a knowing smirk to which he gets the middle finger.  
"Mmm, about two years." Tweek responds before staring back out the window. He's done talking about it, that is only too obvious.

Clyde takes the hint- thank God!- and sits back on his own side. It takes a moment for him to pipe back up, "You should come get pizza with us! It's like three dollars and you can eat as much as you want even the dessert shit. It's the bomb dot com." He smiles and nods as if that will convince him. "Plus, Craig would love your company, and we missed you dude!" he adds at the end.

Tweek stares, and then turns to look at me. I waggle my eyebrows and he scoffs which I guess is his thing now. "I-I don't have any money," he spits out, pulling his legs up so he can curl in on himself and wrap his arms around them.

"I'll pay," I offer, which gets me a glare.

"I don't even like pizza," he lies, whipping his gaze from mine. I know this to be a bull shit lie, and so I prepare myself to call him out on it. I pull on the lever next to my seat and it smashes down on his legs. He yelps and smacks me in the nose as I look upside down at him.

"That is a lame bullshit excuse, and you know it." I say, laying my head back so I can stare at him upside down. He looks down at me with that same frustrated look. "You love pizza. With double cheese, thin crust and green peppers. No meat." I recite from memory, counting the ingredients he loved on my digits.

The car goes silent, Clyde's jaw drops to the floor and I can sense Token's smile even if I can't see it.

"You remember what kind of pizza I ate," he says breathlessly. I smile my shit-eating grin for him. He's blushing harder than ever.

"I have a long memory," I say, reaching my hands out to touch the sides of his face. He pulls back at first and then relaxes into the touch, something I had honestly not expected him to do-what with all his sassy remarks and his general aura of "go away". I grip the sides of his face and pull him down until my lips barely touch his, "I remember a lot." He shivers as my lips brush ever so slightly against his.

Clyde makes a gagging noise, ruining everything. I let go of Tweek and turn to face my best friend. "You're a dick." I snarl, and punch him so hard in the thigh I can see tears prick the corners of his eyes. He lets out an annoying whine and doubles over, clutching his meaty thigh.

Token finally decides to pipe up, "Hey, Tweek. You should come, just for a little bit. I'll take you home early if you need me to, no problem. We do wanna catch up though."

I see the blondes lips quiver, eyes shaking in thoughtfulness. I pull my seat back up to give him some room. "I...I'll go for a little bit." He concedes and them tugs on some wayward strands of hair.

Victory.

X

Clyde has successfully eaten half the buffet in less than fifteen minutes which is, in itself, both disgusting and impressive. Token eggs him on to his twentieth slice as Tweek picks the pepperoni off his own slice and flings it into Clyde's open mouth. I watch Tweek, not caring much for the other shit going on around us.

He nibbles on the tip of his piece, grimaces and pushes it towards the human vacuum. Instead, he gets up and heads toward the salad bar and I follow.

"Will you quit following me?" He snarls, grabbing a bowl and looking over his choice of leafy greens on display. He picks up the tongs and heaps forkfuls of raw spinach leaves into the bowl, followed by a little bit of iceberg. I peer over his shoulder all the while.

I reply nonchalantly, "Nope, no can do." I watch him pile on cucumbers, carrots, croutons, and peppers onto his salad. He forgoes cheese which is despicable of him, so I help out.

I grab a handful of it and chuck it onto the top of his food. He stares, wide eyed and gaping at the cheese mountain. Tweek gulps and then speaks,

"Craig?"  
"Yes?"  
"Did you just reach into the tub of cheese and throw it onto my food?"  
"Sure did."  
"You used your hands."  
"Right-o, captain!"

Then he turns to look at me, face screwed up in rage and boiling over. I take a cautionary step backwards. Finally he takes a breath, shuts his eyes, and turns back to his food. I let out a sigh of relief, hand over my heart. "Oh man, don't scare me like that. I thought you were gonna kill me or some-" I don't get to finish because he decides to fling his bowl at my face.

Bowl collides with my nose-really? second time today for fucks sake- and salad and garnishes explode in a leafy confetti. The whole restaurant has stopped to look. Token is recording it on his iPhone.

"You are disgusting! Your hands went where they should not go, Craig. I can't believe you fucking did that! Are your hands even clean?!" He shrieks, fists clenched.

I glare. "No. I haven't washed them since I jerked off that hobo outside." He grabs a spoon of carrots and flings them at me. I dodge and look for something to fight back with.

"Disgusting!" He shouts, hurling cheese at me.  
"Pussy!" I retort and grab the first thing I see-a ladle of ranch dressing. It soars through the air like a magical dressing vulture and lands on his forehead, covering his face in white goo and matting in his hair.

Gasps echo out. His jaw slacks and a hand reaches up and wipes some away. "My bets on Tweek," I hear Clyde remark. And as I turn to call him a dick loving ass rammer I get tackled.

Tweek has actually tackled me to the nasty floor of the restaurant and has managed to also grab hold of a whole pizza and is smearing it everywhere. "Jerk! Fucking jerk!" He shouts, pizza sauce dripping off his hands and he attempts to destroy me with nasty pizza.

I fling him off, grab my own pizza- Hawaiian pineapple, nice!- and attack him. All the while people murmuring, laughing, and maybe calling the cops. Tweek hears none of it, and I drown it out as well.

Honestly I'm not sure when it happened, but after some time we started laughing, still flinging salad and pizza and ranch at one another.

X

We got kicked out. They took our picture and told us to never come back or they would press charges. Token, the shiny golden god he is, paid for the damages so that we wouldn't have to clean it up. He wouldn't let us ride in the car though, and so we called our respective parents and waited on the curb for them to pick us up.

Tweek's hair was an assortment of blonde, white, and red. There had been cheese and pepper and crust stuck in it, but we had long since picked it all out. My clothes were ruined, my face almost stained from the pizza marinara, but somehow it didn't seem to matter. We sit close together, our knees touching.

"You're an animal, dude," I compliment, bumping him with my shoulder. He chuckles and rubs his eyes tiredly.

"Maybe you'll think next time before you touch food with your hands that other people have to eat."  
"Yes, master."  
"You got marinara in my nose. How did you even do that!" He wrinkles his nose and tries to blow it. It doesn't work.

I admire him, take him in. He hasn't really stopped smiling since we got kicked out, and even though he may say it was horrible I think he had fun.

Tweek catches me staring, "What?"  
"Uh," I stammer, "You got a piece of pineapple in your hair." I lean over and pick it out, flicking it into the grass behind us. He offers me a small thank you, eyes locked on mine as we stay this close-close enough to kiss.

Now, I'm normally a super suave guy. I don't get ruffled very often; I do have a reputation for a reason. But Tweek...with Tweek it's like it doesn't even exist. It's like he's the one with all this quiet mystery, the one with the watching eyes and strong walls. And I'm a puddle. A fucking puddle. I melt.

I'm leaning in, about to kiss him when he opens his mouth to speak. "We can't do this." His voice is torn, like the words had to be forced out of them; maybe they did.

"What do you mean?" I try to keep my voice level.  
"This! Us. I can't," he furrows his eyebrows which are crusty from god knows what I had flung at him.  
"Yes, you can. Why would you think we can't? I'm still the same Craig."  
"But I'm not the same Tweek."  
"I don't mind," I say, and trace the pads of my fingers over his bruises. He sighs, almost leans into them.

"You have no idea," he says right before I capture his lips with mine. It's a slightly sloppy kiss, and he does give much but I don't mind. I seem to like that phrase... I bring my hands up to gently cup his face, and turn his head ever so slightly. He allows it, a shaking hand laying atop my thigh. We stay like this for who knows how long-not long enough-before bright lights blind us even behind closed eyelids.

Tweek snaps back, eyes so wide they're almost like disks. His dad steps out of his car and he's just the way I remember him. Tweek looks so scared, he wrings his hands together, looks at me then stands after slinging his bags over his shoulder.

"I-I gotta go," he mumbles, turning his back to me and walking. Mr. Tweek greets his son softly, nodding his head and helping his son into the car. I stand up as I see my parents car pull up beside it. They don't even get out of the car, but honk annoyingly. I get up, flip them off and wave goodbye to Tweek.

His father nods at me, eyes narrowed warily. I don't blame him. I'd glare at me too.

I pull open the car down and slide in as Tweek's car pulls away. I can see his silhouette in our headlights and I smile a little. My dad smacks me on the back of the head, calls me a dumbass for getting into a fight. I flip him off for good measure and lay my chin in my palm as I look out the window.

That was two kisses today. I'm very pleased with it, and I lick my lips to savor any remnants of his taste. It barely lingers. I smile. I'm gonna make Tweek realize that I'm still here for him, and I am gonna get to the bottom of his problems and damnit, I'll fix them.


End file.
